by Sara Rosett
“The gardener?”
“Yes,” Quimby said. “He witnessed the new will that Eve had Mr. Wallings sign when he was so woozy that he didn’t know what he was doing, but once Jacob learned of Eve’s plan to stage Mr. Wallings’ suicide, he came to us. Jacob says that Eve convinced him to witness the will, saying that Mr. Wallings was really ill and not expected to live much longer. She promised to pay him several thousand pounds when she received her bequest.”
“But wouldn’t he have known Mr. Walling’s true condition?”
“He wasn’t in the house at all, didn’t see me even once during the first months he worked here,” Mr. Wallings said.
“Signing a piece of paper was one thing, but murder, well, he drew the line there,” Quimby said. “He came to us last night and told us the whole plan. He agreed to work with us to bring in Eve and Sherry in exchange for immunity. Eve had told him it would be his job to check on Mr. Wallings, while she washed up the dishes and prepared the scene. He would simply check on Mr. Wallings then declare he was dead. We did the makeup in case Eve insisted on looking herself.”
“But I knew she wouldn’t touch me,” Mr. Wallings said. “Evie doesn’t like to touch people. Very odd, that, but there it is.”
“How strange,” I said, “but you know, thinking back to that day when she found us with you in the garden, she didn’t touch you, even when she wanted you to go in the house.”
Mr. Wallings nodded. “Yes. Beatrice noticed it, too, a while back. Mentioned it to me once, saying she thought Evie’s hands-off manner was unusual. I hadn’t noticed it myself until then, but it was true. When I was weak, she had a nurse in to help me. Evie never did any of the nursing herself.” He stared down into his teacup. “Evie always was a bit of an odd duck, even as a child. Never happy.”
Quimby cleared his throat and set his teacup down. “If you’re feeling up to it, Ms. Sharp, I’d like to get a few details from you and Mr. Norcutt about how you came to be here today.”
“Yes, of course.” I put my teacup and saucer down. While Quimby was occupied with taking out his phone and tapping on the screen, I tried to think of the best way to explain the whole convoluted thing. “It goes back to Kevin. Funny, all this,” I waved my hand toward the doorway where police officers were passing back and forth, “has pushed thoughts of Kevin into the background, but it goes back to him. I guess the best place to start is with the straps on the audio guides at Parkview Hall.”
I went on to explain what I’d seen and how it reminded me of the way Kevin’s camera strap had been folded. I came clean, recounting how I’d removed the camera from the box to get the memory card. By the time I’d finished, my cheeks were burning, and Quimby was frowning deeply. I’d already confessed to Sergeant Olney about removing the memory card, but I felt even worse now, knowing that my interference prevented the police from getting what may have been an essential clue that could link Eve to Kevin.
I braced for a reprimand, but Quimby only shook his head. “Go on.”
Feeling as if I’d gotten a reprieve, I went on to explain my conversation with Beatrice. “So then I knew Eve had lied. She told me she found out about Kevin’s interest in Coventry House the day before, but she’d had a conversation with Beatrice about it a week before. I had even more questions, but they all got pushed to the side when Alex told me who Sherry was. I’d never seen her here as the cook, but then I saw her talking to…Jacob, wasn’t it? That’s when I recognized them as the couple from the river. Anyway, seeing them together made several odd things fall into a pattern that frightened me.”
I recounted everything: the conversation about Jacob feeling guilty, Beatrice’s sleepiness, Celia looking for a new job, the mortar and pestle in the kitchen but Sherry not knowing how to use them, Eve telling Sherry to stay away from the house until two, overhearing Eve say it would be “over by then,” the quick word between Sherry and Jacob, and how they’d checked their watches. “Each thing individually didn’t seem significant—important nothings—Austen would call them, but when I put them all together…” I stopped, not wanting to think about the horrible feeling that I’d had when everything fell into place. “Anyway, I hoped I was wrong, but if I wasn’t…” I shrugged. “I called you, got your voicemail. When I couldn’t find Beatrice, I had to come on my own.”
“You arrived on foot?”
“Yes, my car was blocked in at Parkview House. Alex showed me the footpath. We even called an ambulance. Did it ever arrive?”
Quimby sighed. “Emergency checked with us before dispatching it. We’d briefed the local authorities on our sting, but by the time I got the word that some helpful citizen had called for an ambulance, you two were galloping up the stairs. If you had driven over and tried to come in the front gate, we would have prevented you from getting in. I had a man remotely operating the gate controls. He was to let Sherry and Jacob in, but no one else. I never thought that someone would come through the woods. I think we’re done for now. I’ll need each of you to give an official statement. We’ll be in touch.” Quimby tucked his phone into his pocket and stood.
Alex and I stood as well. Slink dragged herself to her feet, then shook her body in a movement that rippled from her head down to her tail. We said goodbye to Mr. Wallings then followed Quimby into the entry. He opened the door, revealing fat raindrops arrowing onto the gravel sweep.
“Let me get you lifts.” Quimby motioned to a police officer standing in the hallway, and in short order, we had been sorted—me into one police car and Alex and Slink into another. We barely had time to exchange a wave through the rain-blurred car windows before we were efficiently swept away from Coventry House.
Chapter Twenty-One
It rained on and off for the next two days, the sky heavy and dark, a fitting atmosphere for the inquest into Kevin’s death. His body had been released and loaded onto a plane yesterday for transport back to the States. Eve was in custody, facing a myriad of charges, which ranged from fraud all the way up to attempted murder. Quimby had called to tell me a search of Eve’s computer showed she had created profiles and posted on Internet forums, hoping to generate suspicion that someone in our office wanted Kevin out of the way, which would keep suspicion away from her.
The police had also found a fuzzy security recording from a merchant across the street from the crosswalk where I was pushed. While not conclusive, the images showed a woman, her face obscured by a hat, who came close to me. Her furled umbrella tangled with my ankles seconds before I fell. By the time I was on the ground, the woman had moved away. Using the streetlight and a nearby sign as a reference, the police had been able to work out that the woman was the exact height as Eve Wallings. The incident was minor compared to the other charges Eve faced, and it didn’t look as if the police would be able to pursue any charges because they couldn’t definitively link Eve to it, but after seeing the video, I had no doubt about what had happened.
I had expected to talk to Alex. We were supposed to meet one day for lunch, but he had to cancel. The only other thing I heard from him was a short text, asking how I was doing. I caught a glimpse of him after the inquest, but we hadn’t talked face-to-face.
This morning, the day of my departure, had dawned clear and bright. I decided to walk down to the bridge. My suitcase was packed and my boarding pass printed. The streets of Nether Woodsmoor were damp, and once I was out of the village and on the footpath to the bridge, the trees glistened with water, an occasional drop smacking onto my shoulders. The very air seemed scrubbed clean and sparkly with a sharp, fresh scent.
I paused at the little clearing where Alex had stopped his car the day Kevin was found. I was glad to see the bridge was deserted. I followed the curving path around through the thickening wood and up the incline, then came out on the road. I walked to the center of the bridge, found a fairly dry spot on the golden stone, leaned my arms on it, and watched the water flow by in a steady current.
I stood there a long time, thinking about Kevin. A family
passed by on the bridge, consulting a map, and talking about gardens, so I assumed they were going to Parkview Hall. A little later, a car lumbered slowly along, but the bridge was wide and had accommodated foot traffic as well as wheeled vehicles for hundreds of years. There was plenty of room, and I didn’t have to move. Drivers here were used to sharing the road with walkers and bike-riders with no problems…well, except for Kevin, but his case was different. He had been targeted.
I heard another car approach, and looked up when the engine didn’t stay at the same steady rumble and pass me. The car, a red MG, turned off the road and stopped in the open area at the end of the bridge where Kevin had parked his car. Alex climbed out and crossed the bridge, his hands in his pockets, a tentative smile on his face. “Hey,” he said.
“Hey. Where’s Slink?”
“I had to leave her at home today.” Alex leaned on the stones beside me. “I stopped by the inn. Doug told me you checked out today.”
“Yes. My flight is this afternoon.”
“I see.”
We stood there a few minutes, the only sound, the water swooshing along beneath us.
“Are you okay? You got the details from Quimby, about Kevin, didn’t you?”
I sighed and looked back at the water. “Yes. Eve says she didn’t mean to hit him, just scare him. Quimby says there was impact damage to her car at the front bumper and at the edge of the windshield. They came back and examined the whole bridge and found traces of Kevin’s DNA on the edge of the stone.”
I stopped and cleared my throat. “Quimby showed me a sketch of what they think happened. Eve, angry with him about interfering with her plans, saw Kevin walking on the bridge. With his car in the water, he would have to cross it to return to Nether Woodsmore. She accelerated and clipped his thigh. The impact broke his leg and threw him into the air. He hit the side of the car first, then the momentum carried him through the air to the side of the bridge. The back of his head connected with the balustrade of the bridge as he fell. Quimby says their medical people are sure he was at least unconscious, if not already gone, by the time he hit the water.” I blew out a long breath.
“I’m sorry, Kate.”
Unable to speak for a moment, I nodded, then finally said, “At least we know what really happened.”
“And Becca was telling the truth,” Alex said in a wondering tone. “Never would have thought that.”
I couldn’t help but smile and glance at Alex. I had to look away again quickly. There was something about the way he focused on me, seeming to listen with his whole face, that made me feel elated and slightly nervous at the same time.
“I’m sorry I’ve been MIA for the last two days,” he said. “I had a—well, a family emergency, then I got word about a new project.”
“It’s okay,” I said quickly. “So you’ve got something else lined up. That’s good because Marci says the prospects of P & P getting made are less than zero right now. It’s all over except for the official announcement. Funding trouble. Sorry,” I said, knowing the loss of the job would impact his finances, which Quimby had pointed out weren’t all that solid.
“It’s fine. Don’t worry about me. I’ll get by. I always do. What will you do?”
“I’m not sure. I could always go out on my own, but I don’t know if I want to do that. I’m not as…hungry and aggressive as Kevin.”
“You could always move to another firm—” He broke off at the sound of a dog barking. Two small bundles of fur emerged from the path on the side of the bridge near Parkview Hall. Beatrice held the taut leashes as the two dogs yapped their way across the bridge and joined us.
“Hush,” she commanded, but the dogs only calmed down after Alex and I petted them. “Have to keep them on a leash now that we’re open again.” Beatrice addressed the dogs. “You lot are horribly behaved. Embarrassing.”
The dogs had stopped barking, but continued to twist in and out around us, tangling their leashes. “So distressing, this whole thing with Eve. Trying to murder her uncle. Positively Machiavellian.”
“How is Mr. Wallings?”
“Improving every day. He’s still quite upset at what happened—doesn’t show it, but Harold and I can tell. We will keep an eye on him. I predict that Edwin will be walking without a cane by the end of summer. So I suppose you’re off to the States soon?” Beatrice asked.
“Today, and I’m afraid I won’t be back. Looks as if the movie isn’t going to happen after all.” I hated to be the bearer of bad news, but projects did fall through, and it wasn’t the first time I had to do it.
“That’s a shame,” Beatrice said with perfect equanimity. “Would have been a coup for Nether Woodsmoor, but there you go. You probably can’t wait to get out of our little village, having seen the dark side of it.”
“L.A. is pretty dark at times, too. No, I will miss it here.” I didn’t mean to look at Alex as I said the words, but I couldn’t help letting my glance slide his way a bit.
“I won’t keep you,” Beatrice said, working to untangle the leashes, which now resembled a braided rope.
“Here, let me,” Alex said and went to work.
“Thank you.” Beatrice patted the pockets of her cardigan. “Now you must let me take your picture. I’ll put it in the drawing room and tell visitors about my brush with Hollywood.”
“Oh, I don’t know.”
“Just like a photographer. Never like having their own picture taken.” She shooed me into the center of the bridge and snapped a few photos. Alex handed her the untangled leashes. “Thank you,” Beatrice said. “Now, go on, join her. I don’t have a decent snap of you either.” Beatrice gave him a firm push in my direction. “Put your arm around her. Closer.”
Alex’s arm went around my shoulder, his clean soapy scent enveloping me.
“Yes. That’s lovely.”
Beatrice lowered the phone, and we broke apart. “I’ll send you both copies. I’m sure it’s like the cobbler’s children and their shoes. You probably don’t have any photos of yourself. All right I’m off. I can’t tolerate goodbyes. I hope you come back for a visit someday, Kate.” She tugged on the leashes and the dogs stopped circling and sniffing and dashed off at full speed down the road.
“What time is your flight? Do you have time for lunch?” Alex asked.
I looked at my watch. “No, I have to go, this moment, in fact. I have to get back to the inn.”
“I’ll drive you.” We hopped in the car. There wasn’t time to clean out the passenger seat. I sat on a few pages of paper and some sticky notes, and Alex had me back at the inn within a few minutes. “Let me know about P & P, will you?”
“Of course.”
***
As flights go, my return flight wasn’t bad. It was a normal international flight, which meant I arrived back in L.A. exhausted and bleary-eyed. I walked out of the airport into a wall of dry, hot air and immediately stripped off my jacket, pushed up my sleeves, and dug in my bag for my sunglasses. I squinted against the piercing glare of the sun as I made my way to my car. I’d been away so long I had to bring up the picture I’d snapped on my phone of the aisle and row where I’d parked—a little trick I’d learned from Kevin. I sighed, sad that I would never have the opportunity to thank him for teaching me the ropes of location scouting. I found my car, drove straight home, and slept for thirteen hours.
When I woke up the next day, I texted Marci, letting her know I was back in town and on my way to the office. There was a wreck on the interstate, and it took me thirty minutes to cover half a mile. Breathing exhaust fumes from the cars in front of me and moving forward in inch-length increments, I thought of the quiet, narrow roads around Nether Woodsmoor and fuzzy white sheep dotting the rolling hills.
I scanned the horizon as I crept forward: triple lines of brake lights burning red, graffiti on the concrete overpass, and, in the distance through the thin haze of smog, the sharp angles of metal and glass buildings. It wasn’t exactly a picture postcard view.
I finally got through the bottleneck and arrived at the office to find a ‘For Lease’ sign tucked into the frosted glass pane that ran alongside the door. The lights in the front office area were dark.
I flicked them on. “Marci?” Her desk was completely clear, and the bookcase behind her desk was empty.
Marci’s silhouette with her distinctive spiky hair appeared in Kevin’s doorway. “Hey, you’re back.” She carried a heavy cardboard box to the front door and set it beside a stack of similar boxes, which were labeled: ACCOUNTS RECEIVABLE, CLIENT LEADS, and LEGAL.
“So it’s true? We’re out of business?”
“Afraid so. Got the official word from Mr. O’Leery’s people that the P & P project had been cancelled, and we’ve been getting cancellation calls for the last few days from our other clients. Without Kevin, they’re moving on to someone else.”
“Ah.” I went to my desk, which already had two flattened cardboard boxes leaning against it. I dropped my tote bag into the chair and picked up a box. I flexed the cardboard flaps into place. “What happened to Lori?” I asked, tilting my head toward the empty plain of her desk. Her pink and white polka dot pencil cup and file holder were gone, and the wall behind her desk where the Pride and Prejudice movie posters had hung was blank.
“She decided last week she wants to be a Zumba instructor.”
“Hmm. Well, she always was a bit obsessed about the crunches versus sit-up debate.” I slapped a length of tape along the seam of the cardboard flaps and flipped the box over.
“What about Zara? I bet she was the first one out of here.”
“Yes, she’s like a cat. She always lands on her feet. She’s moving to New York. Apparently, those personal days she took were for a job interview not to sort out something with her ex.”
